


Dalliance

by MoonlightShines (Thatkillervibe)



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Medieval, Alternate Universe - Royalty, F/M, Kings & Queens, M/M, Princes & Princesses, References to Shakespeare, Rivalry, also what have I done, because it's bughead I have to
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2018-05-19
Packaged: 2018-12-20 00:26:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,771
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11909388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thatkillervibe/pseuds/MoonlightShines
Summary: Our story is about a kingdom, a small kingdom and the people who live in the kingdom.The royal! Riverdale AU nobody asked for. [Bughead & Varchie]





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This fic is my baby lmao, but please tell me if it sucks.  
> Some warnings can be found in the end notes.

_Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,_

_Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,_  
_Whiles, like a puff'd and reckless libertine,_  
_Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads_

_And recks not his own rede._  

Shakespeare

Hamlet (Act 1, Scene lll)

~~O~~

Night fell like a whisper over The Kingdom, quiet, slowly and hidden with secrets. Sometimes soft clicks of horse hooves could be heard on aged cobblestone, restless souls riding out of the solid bronze gates that protect The Kingdom like a guardian angel and into the black eventide. The Castle stood regal and altitudinous, strong on principles and blessed, as the anointed with holy oil sleep. This night, the restless souls stop wandering, and their mares trot off-kilter, despite the urges and pulls of their master’s reigns. For mares of The Kingdom show respect to stallions of highness, branded with Kingdoms crests, and one is galloping towards the gate with the presence of authority and a sureness of obligation only a trained equestrian member of the court may posses. The restless souls watched with frightened eyes as a young man adorned in threads of gold and boots steeled with copper and hair red as fire dashed by them until he vanished into the streets and into The Kingdom, beyond the path of the Royal Road. 

At The Castle, a young woman opened her eyes and slipped out of her bedchambers. She laced up her equestrian boots in the dark and threw a heavy cloak across her shoulders. She struck a match and lit a flame to her candle, following the flicker and glow that cast shadows upon the walls of the Grand Hallways that were lined with guards at attention and who nodded gravely as she passed by. She was The Crown Princess. In her other hand, she clutched the letter that was delivered to her by the Castle’s scribe. She glanced down at it again, tracing the foreign royal seal with trembling fingers. It read:

 

_ Dearest, _

_ Come to me, under the cover of night at the edge of the reflecting pond in your western courtyard and tell nobody of your affairs. Dress in clothes for riding and bring nothing else with you. Pray I make the journey. _

_ With love,  _

_ Your Prince Jason _

The Princess hurried through the Grand Hallways, careful to prevent her boots from making sound on the cool marble floors. A breeze wafted through the palace, bringing sweet scents  from the gardens outside. Rounding a corner, she quickened her pace, gripping her gown so she would not lose her footing on her descent onto the grounds. Tossing her head behind her, she was grateful to discover that her escape from the castle had gone unnoticed by her family or Grand Officials. She does not worry about the guards, as they must remain silent and are sworn to secrecy upon what they observe after The King and Queen retire to their bedchamber. She followed the torchlit path into darkness, taking the time to gaze in awe at the clear, inky night sky above her. The night had always filled her head with wonder, as she imagined it was the vessel of many secrets and untold stories lost at dawn.

Her pace slowed as the Reflecting Pond, the royal stream from the current of Sweetwater River, came into view. The Princess caught a glimpse of her summoner in the moonlight. At the sound of her footfalls on polished stone, he turned to face her and offered her a low bow. She regarded him as she came closer, looking forward to take in his delicate features and angelic smile. But they were not there. His smile was strained and beads of sweat formed at his temples. His eyes, brilliant and bright as they were, blown back with masked fear. The Princess’s heart sank, as she thought of what could be plaguing her Prince so. Taking her hand and kissing it gently, he expressed his gratitude at her presence. They moved together and sat on a bench by the pond. Before The Princess had a chance to speak, The Prince latched himself onto her with rushed and panicked phrases.

They had to leave immediately.

He mounted her up onto his Stallion. She turned once, to look back at her home, her family, her Kingdom, her people, as fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. To give up her namesake, her destiny, her legacy was such a high cost. She’d be burned in her people’s memories as  treacherous. But she loved her prince more than her tiara, and he was forced to make the same sacrifice for her in return. There was no other way. She placed her hands on her abdomen, saddened but not ashamed. The Prince and The Princess would never be safe together, lest rule together in either of their Kingdoms. With heavy steps, The Prince walked towards his horse, stroking his mane before climbing onto his saddle in front of The Princess.

“Hush my love, we will have new lives by dawn.”

The Princess did not reply. The Prince turned around and thumbed her cheek with his satin gloved hand that adorned the royal Blossom seal.

“What troubles you?”

The Princess remained silent, she did not need to voice her concern, for in his heart The Prince already knew the reason. 

Their sisters. 

The Princess thought of her beloved Elizabeth peacefully asleep in her canopy. The Prince bowed his head to mourn, for he too battled with his broken heart for deserting his own twin sister. 

“They are strong and courageous women,” he said at last. “They will take on the weight of the crowns and hopefully spare enough grace to forgive us.” They fled quickly, before the moonlight shined upon the Royal Road, knowing they would never return. 

 

~~O~~

In an instant waking breath, Elizabeth Cooper’s life was changed. Riots broke through the streets, she watched her father throttle the throats of his guards in grievous rage for letting his precious daughter escape. 

Then the news broke out from their rivalrous kingdom. Their kingdom’s crown prince disappeared the very same night. Elizabeth was forced to confess of her sister’s affair, hurling both Kingdoms into a wild fury that challenged the plunging depths of hell. War dangled above The Kingdom by a thin hair, finer than Elizabeth’s own blonde tresses.

The Princess forfeited her royal title the moment she took her final steps across The Kingdom’s soil. She was the Lost Princess.

She was truly, utterly lost.

Under His and Her Majesty, the King and Queen, a creed was sent throughout the land to forget The Princess. For she had turned her back against her kingdom and so, fittingly, the kingdom must abandon her. They needed a new crown princess.

Thus, in an instant waking breath, Her highness Elizabeth Cooper’s life changed. _She_ was now The Princess.

Elizabeth was so full of kindness and love, she could not find room in her heart to hate her lost sister. Nevertheless, sometimes, she ached for the days when responsibility, dignity and honour did not weigh her down with every step, for she was only a girl, whose life was so unfairly changed. It was in those moments she wished she did hate her sister, she wished she could lash and boil with rage. But that was unbecoming. It was unacceptable. The Princess does not waiver under the public eye. She must remain steadfast, obedient and strong. So that she stayed, until she was able to seclude herself in her bedchambers, and dismiss her maids after they ripped off her bodice and corset. The Princess yanked the jewels from her neck and ground her deft fingers into her own palms, until they bled her royal blood and her eyes shed tears as she yearned to be free. 

But all was not as it seemed. 

It was easier when The Kingdom feigned normalcy. War was being threatened, their Princess was missing, and the fate of their kingdom now rested in the hands of a child, barely sixteen years of age. The townspeople were bitter, impecunious, and uncertain of the future. The tensions, they were strained. Still, The Kingdom carried on, the people continued to work and the tiara was placed upon Elizabeth’s head, as His and Her Majesty assured and smiled as if their whole world had not been uprooted and put on spectacle.

Perhaps, it was naïve, to assure and smile and play pretend.

For three weeks later, the son of The Kingdom’s senior knight of the Order stumbled across a body washed upon the shore of Sweetwater River the night of Elizabeth’s debutante ball. Its body was faced upwards, with a sword wound slashed deep across its temple, striking garish red against the hollowed white of its sunken cheeks.

It was the corpse of Prince Jason of Thornhill. The foolish monarch thought to have corrupted The Lost Princess urging her to runaway from their righteous lives to avidly succumb to the pits of sinful lust and greed.

But there lied Prince Jason, dead in the moonlight, in front of Sir Kevin and the Kingdom was stunned into heavy silence as The Kingdom sent Dilton Doiley and his pages to Thornhill to announce the death.

What followed after the pages were sent on their horses was unclear and varied on the narrator, lost in the panic and confusion, unleashed under  the torchlit night. But one thing was for certain, another princess, with hair red as glowing embers, sat alone on her canopy, and wept. She summoned all her strength to put on a persona that did not reflect her inner devastation, locking up her heart so that she may no longer feel crippling pain.  She held her brother’s abandoned jacket stitched with the royal coat of arms in her hands, vowing to travel to The Kingdom to avenge his death, and to imprison the wicked Lost Princess who stole him away and cursed her to live a life she didn’t want— on Thornhill’s throne.  

Jason’s death forced the Kingdom to acknowledge all that was amiss.

Where was The Lost Princess, truly? Alive and well or doomed and wrecked like her lover?

What caused the bad blood between The Kingdom and Thornhill, two lands separated by a lone River, rumoured long ago, to have once been at peace?

And what’s to become of our young new Crown Princesses?

Alas, dear reader, this is where we begin. Our story is about a kingdom, a small kingdom and the people who live in the kingdom. From a distance, it presents itself like so many other small kingdoms all over the world.

Safe. Decent. Innocent.

Get closer, acquaint yourself with us, and you’ll behold the shadows underneath. 

The name of our kingdom is Riverdale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Description of Jason's corpse & Betty digs into her palms, drawing blood.


	2. Chapter One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let it be known, The Palace was not accepting company when The Countess arrived.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Congratulations Harry and Meghan!!

Let it be known, The Palace was  _ not _ accepting company when The Countess arrived.

 

It has been but two days since Jason’s body was dragged from the shore of Sweetwater River, and every staff and nobleman of The Palace was partaking in the bustling gossip, including Princess Elizabeth and her company.

 

“Kevin, tell us, were you afraid when you came across the body?”

 

Kevin scoffed, “I have seen many slain bodies since being knighted, it was indeed more traumatizing explaining to my father what I was doing near the river with Sir Moose so late at night.”

 

“What  _ were  _ you doing?” Betty teased, playfully. Riverdale was one of the few kingdoms that accepted and respected same-sex relationships.

 

“My intentions were perhaps not so chivalrous,” he smirked, “Unfortunately, the fun was spoiled and there was no pleasure for me that night.”

 

Betty was having tea in the gardens with her dearest friends, Sir Kevin, Duke Archie and Jughead, the royal scribe, when a carriage came to a halt before them. Its door opened unannounced and The Countess -- Although The Princess and her company did not know who she was at the time-- stepped out. 

 

Betty paused, for The Countess was stunning in beauty, dressed in the finest of silk with gloves and pearls tight at her throat. Betty worried she was in the presence of a foreign Queen. Elizabeth looked down at her golden gown and felt under dressed despite the tiara on her head. 

 

She forced those insecurities away. She would not be ridiculous, this woman was in  _ her _ court. She was unaccompanied and her gloves were not stamped by any royal seal. She must have been lost. 

 

Betty stood, and her friends took after, remembering the new etiquette Governor Weatherbee instructed to adhere now that she was Crown Princess.

 

“State your name, title and Kingdom, please,” The Princess demanded in her most commanding, not unkind voice.

 

Another woman stepped out of the carriage, looking twice as regal as the young lady before her and curtsied.

 

“I am Lady Hermione Lodge, Duchess of York, and this is my darling daughter, Lady Veronica, Countess, your highness.” 

 

Lady Veronica curtsied at her introduction, looking well pleased with her newfound attention.

 

“You are in the presence of her royal highness, Crown Princess Elizabeth Cooper of Riverdale,” Sir Kevin started, shaking Lady Veronica’s hand earnestly after she curtsied again.

 

“I am Sir Kevin Keller, son of the Senior Knight of the Order, this is Duke Archibald and Forsythe our scribe.” 

 

Archie and Jughead rolled their eyes at their official titles.

 

“I go by Archie, truthfully. And what brings you to The Palace?” Archie interrupted, eyes on Veronica only as he kissed her gloved hand. 

 

Betty and Kevin shared a glance at Archie’s forwardness.

 

"York, you say?" Jughead asked, intrigued. 

 

Lady Veronica smiled brightly, "Our history is rich, yet the name is rather new."

 

“I am afraid my husband has made some monetary mistakes, corrupting our family name through fraudulence and dishonesty. My daughter and I are in search of a new settlement here, and hope to find a proper suitor for Lady Veronica. We’ve heard that Prince Jason of Riverdale was eligible,” Lady Hermione said, in response to Archie. 

 

Once more, Elizabeth and Sir Kevin shared a troubled glance. Archie’s eyes widened and Jughead dropped his quill. 

 

The Duchess of York seemed to notice the disquiet between the young titles, and frowned.

 

“My apologies, your highness, were we mistaken?”

 

“It appears so,” Elizabeth said slowly, “There is no Prince Jason of Riverdale. Only a Prince Jason of Thornhill, who was recently assassinated.” 

 

 

Lady Veronica’s mouth dropped in a very unladylike manner. “My God,” She gaped, “a royal  _ scandal _ in such a quaint Kingdom as this?”

 

The Duchess not so subtly stepped on her daughter’s boot.

 

“How peculiar,” The Duchess remarked, then asked for her coachman to hand her his map. 

 

“Look here.” 

 

The adolescents crowded around the yellowed parchment, a map that had all the closest Kingdoms. Surely enough, Riverdale’s land was stretched over a larger plain, spanning into the Blossom’s territory and Thornhill was marked nowhere in existence. 

 

“That map is flawed!” Elizabeth insisted, her friends nodding along with agreement, though Jughead remained silent. “Riverdale was never that vast.” 

 

“Of course, your highness. Our apologies.” 

 

“Mother, I am weary from the ride,” The Countess complained, bored with the geographical trivia. 

 

“Well, I suppose I ought to arrange a meeting with the King and Queen. We have no place to stay, and I see no inn suitable for our needs.”

 

Jughead put away his quill. “I will call for them.”

 

“Please don’t trouble yourself. I can fetch mother and father,” Betty protested, but Jughead shot her a tired look. 

 

“It’s in my duties, your highness,” He said firmly. 

 

They have had this talk on more than one occasion.

 

Jughead held no title from birth. He was a peasant boy, son of the Kingdom’s drunkard. He met Archie and Betty with their governess when he snuck onto the Palace grounds when he was a young child, snatching fruits from their orchards. He was caught, although the King and Queen were quick to pity his position. It was not the boy’s fault his father was a fool and his mother deserted them. They took him in, educated him, and placed him in a working class that adhered to his strengths, which manifested to be with the pen. Still, Jughead was constantly reminded he did not belong among his friends. He had to earn his keep to remain with them. 

 

Betty did not want to embarrass him anymore than he was. Reluctantly, she approved his request to be dismissed. 

 

The rest of her friends stood around awkwardly, still uncomfortable with The Princess’s new rank that required them to be asked to leave rather than taking off when they desired. Betty gave Sir Kevin a pleading look before standing up and gathering her skirts. 

 

“Your company was appreciated, thank you,” she said, pretending they would have been allowed to decline her invitation. 

 

She turned towards the foreigners. 

 

“Welcome to Riverdale. I hope you enjoy your stay and find what you’re looking for.” 

 

“The pleasure was ours your royal highness,” The Duchess said politely. 

 

_ Your royal highness. _ Because Princess Elizabeth was now defined by the constraints of the monarchy. She would never be Betty again, would she? 

 

Her friends and guests bowed and curtsied and she had to retain her collected posture, resisting the urge that crawled up her skin to snap.

 

Princess Elizabeth was miserable. 

 

~O~

 

Betty remembered what The Kingdom used to say of her before she became Crown Princess. It was in the wind that carried the words of townspeople, in the papers that littered the streets that a young Betty would pick up during the off chance of a stroll past the Royal Road. 

 

 _She was a pretty girl but rather forgettable._ _Her childhood consisted of clinging onto the skirts of her sister like a baby. Could not compare to the extraordinary beauty and grace her royal highness, Crown Princess Polly possessed._

 

It stung, to now have them bow at her feet, gift her with oils and flowers as if they were devout to her all along. Betty was not stupid. Her kingdom did not truly love her,  not in the way they loved Polly. They are now stuck with a lacklustre, meeker version of her. The little sister with smaller, unroyal-like features, with fair but not flawless skin, and kind but not gorgeous eyes, and a soft voice laced with slight hesitation. Not equipped for the strength and steadfastness required of their desired future Queen of Riverdale. 

 

If they only knew what it was like to live in the stifling environment the Royal children endured. Perhaps they’d reconsider mocking her for clutching unto her sister. Maybe they wouldn’t blame Polly for running away. Maybe they'd speak out in protest. But what was forbidden was taken seriously, for fear of punitive consequences which included any outspoken opposition of the  reigning monarch and crown to be, as if it would shield Betty from the public’s disappointment. By creed, Betty would be destined to never know.

 

In heart, she knew plenty already. 

 

~O~

 

The Kingdom was hosting another ball. It would be a celebration of Betty making her first public appearance as Crown Princess. Whether or not the timing was appropriate could be debated, but Queen Alice insisted for it to carry on regardless of _‘whom was dead and by what unfortunate circumstances'._

 

Elizabeth was well aware tonight’s ball would be far more strenuous between her parents and the Blossoms than ever before. It would be the first time the two monarchs would meet in person since the tragic collection of Prince Jason’s body. 

 

It also meant another evening to spend with Princess Cheryl and her dukedom.

 

However, the young titles were not their parents. Hatred did not so easily course through their veins.

 

After the many bimonthly balls, banquets and festivals of Thornhill and Riverdale trying to outdo each other in outlandish fashions to gloat success (whether they were affluent or not) the reigning monarchs failed to consider that it would force their children and their friends to make acquaintances with each other, and in one spectacular case, fall in love.

 

  
Lady Veronica, recently acquiring a benevolent guest quarters at The Palace also was extended an invitation. It became apparent however, that she did not understand the customs of the two kingdoms.

  
  
"I am confused. Why invite the Blossoms if they threaten war?" 

  
  
"Because if we do not invite them, they would be offended, assuming it as an act of hostility. Then surely war would be the outcome," Betty recited, quoting her tutors. 

  
"And if they extend an invitation to you for their occasions?"

  
  
"Likewise, we'd must make an appearance."

  
  
"That's ridiculous."

  
  
The Princess paused, and turned to her new guest.

 

"Is it? We are so accustomed to it, we fail to notice the pettiness of it all. That is how The Kingdoms have been for as long as I could remember."

 

“Just out of curiosity,” Veronica said, peeking out of the chamber windows at the arriving guests, “Now that my mother and I are taking residence at the Cooper Castle, does it mean I am not allowed to flirt with the Blossom noblemen?”

 

Betty thought of Sir Chuck and his noblemen. “You wouldn’t want to.”

 

“Pity.” 

 

“Besides,” Betty teased, arching an eyebrow, “Is there not a ginger duke who has caught your eye?”

 

The Countess blushed. 

 

Oh, how The Princess envied the way her cheeks tinged with colour of that of a precious painted China doll. Sweet and dainty, nothing like the blotched redness that would creep over The Princess’s face when embarrassed. 

 

“I do not know what you are speaking about, your highness,” The Countess stuttered, and Betty could not help but giggle. 

  
  


It was at that moment, someone knocked on the gold lined mahogany door. 

 

The Princess and The Countess both turned their heads towards the entrance with peaked interest, as the servants scuttled around each other, speaking to the soul on the other side. 

 

Barely any time lapsed before Duke Archie himself came striding into Betty’s quarters, halting per custom at the threshold of her bedchamber. He was dressed ever dashingly: In his family’s coat of arms, with Riverdale symbols stamped upon his gloves and sash across his chest. Both ladies felt their eyes widen at the sight. The Princess for the realization her kindred spirit was no longer a frivolous boy, and The Countess from indisputable allure. 

 

Betty stood and Archie bowed a beat late, eyes lingering on the foreign Countess. Quickly, he regained his composure and extended his greeting, demanding to speak to The Princess in privacy.  

 

All but one servant dismissed themselves silently, along with Veronica who announced she wasn’t wearing the proper pearls for the occasion. 

 

“Archie,” Betty began in a hushed tone, “What is it?”

 

“Don’t hate me for asking you of this,” He replied, which troubled The Princess greatly. 

 

“Why so? You are of my dearest companions.”

 

“And I you, alas I must break my vow. I ask your permission to seek courtship of The Countess.”

 

Betty blinked, unsurprised. “Lady Veronica? What matter does this have unto me?”

 

“Rumours in the palace say Duke Reginald will ask her tomorrow. I must do it tonight, but I am pledged to your side as your escort.”

 

The Princess’s blood ran cold. 

 

It figured, Archie would abandon her the day she needed him. Yet how could she deny his grant? She has seen the fire in his eye, his swooning whenever the two were in each other’s presence. His affection for The Countess is unlike any The Princess has ever seen him possess in past suitors--and by faith has he had many!

 

And her new amie, Lady Veronica. She too, was besotted with the ginger duke. She constantly sent lingering gazes, fluttering eyelashes, blushes and coy smiles in his direction.

 

Had she not come to their kingdom under the pretense to find a prince? A wealthy suitor, then, above a loyal companion she could admire? Sir Reginald was indeed one of the wealthiest of her people’s noblemen, more so than the Andrews, but he was not like Archie. Truly, if Reginald asked The Duchess of York to court Veronica by next morrow, her mother would have no reason to decline the offer.

 

Least be it by the will of The Princess her friends be denied a chance at love. 

 

With a heavy heart she sighed, “Archie, how could I refuse? I want nothing less than to help you, but I cannot be unaccompanied.”

 

Archie's eyes dimmed, “I understand, your highness.”

 

Betty was quick to wave her hand dismissively, “That does not mean I am saying no, it means it puts me in a precarious circumstance we cannot leave unaddressed. Who else is available who is not already in the arms of another?”

 

Archie frowned, scratching his head in deep thought as Betty looked out her balcony window, trailing a deft finger along the glass. So many people were filing into the palace just to pretend to care about her ceremony. If only she didn't have to go at all. 

 

It is then Archie exclaimed with a jovial laugh. Betty turned in surprise. “Why of course! Jughead! He cannot stand these types of affairs, I do believe he told me he had no intentions to make an appearance at all!”

 

“He would never agree, he hates being the center of unwanted attention.” she argued. 

 

“Not for just anybody,” he agreed, “But for you, Betty…”

 

“Because I am his princess?” She snapped, irritated. That excuse would not have worked on any of her friends be two months ago, it should not be a just reason now. 

 

“No,” Archie replied just as quickly, “because you share a bond unlike any other.” 

 

Betty frowned at her friend. What in the world was Archie implying? “I don't know…” she trailed off. 

 

“Betty, I pray you to simply ask him. Has he ever let you down?”

  
  
  


                            ~O~

 

And so, half an hour before Elizabeth’s grand entrance, she tumbled into Jughead’s quarters, knocking frantically on his door in her full skirts. 

 

He opened the door slightly, then widened it, startling at the sight of Betty, who has never traveled to the servant’s quarters since before her title change. He yanked her inside his chambers, locking the door behind him.

 

“God, Betty! What are you doing here?” he hissed, “It is strictly forbidden for you to be wandering the servant quarters, and you well are aware of it!”

 

Betty moved past him, ignoring his spluttered protesting and made a beeline for his wardrobes. “Where is the coat and tie ensemble you wore to Polly’s 18th birthday?” She asked him, going through his clothes.

 

He stared at her before shaking his head in resignation, answering her question hesitantly.

 

“It is folded in the tailor’s box on the top shelf. Why?”

 

Betty grabbed the box and put it on his bed. “Dress quickly. You are accompanying me to my ball. Archie was supposed to but he wants to seek the favor of Lady Veronica and he cannot do that if he’s fastened to my side all night.” 

 

Jughead’s eyes widened. “Are you mad? I am not suitable to escort you! To the ball in your honour? Everybody will be there.”

 

“Juggie,  _ I beg of you _ . If not you, it is I, humiliated, standing alone, in an event designed to honour me, like you described. I am already dressed, the Blossoms are already  _ here _ .” 

 

“Do you not have a special escort? Some other duke or a knight’s son? Some man your mother has her eyes on for you to court?” Jughead questioned.

 

“No,” Betty replied, averting her eyes.

 

That made Jughead pause. “Really? Do not most monarchs want to secure their lineage by marrying off their daughters as quickly and mundanely as possible?” He mused.

 

“After what happened with Polly, I would be fortunate to touch a man’s elbow.”

 

Jughead gave her a careful look at the second mention of Polly, but The Princess was no fool.

 

She stiffened her back, “I know it is forbidden to talk of her, but she is my sister, and I still love her,” she said candidly, staring straight at the wall. “I won’t let her name disappear into the night.”

 

Jughead did not know how to respond.  

 

“I know of your part in it,” Betty said suddenly, lifting her gaze to him.

 

  
“What?”

 

“About Jason and my sister. Polly confided in me, that she and Jason would correspond, back and forth declarations of love while the world were asleep. She told me she had a trustworthy deliverer. A dutiful scribe. One who knew more of what happened within The Palace than some of the noblemen themselves. It must have been you.”  

 

Betty knew she was right when his hand twitched nervously. 

 

“Tell me what happened, Jughead,” She pleaded. 

 

“I’m the court’s  _ scribe _ . I write and deliver letters, not read them.” Jughead replied, offended. “I take great care and responsibility.” 

 

“Tell me then, did Polly receive an unusual letter the day before she disappeared?” 

 

Jughead hesitated before answering, “I was called to deliver a letter to Polly from page Doiley, who said he received it from the banks of Sweetwater River by a thornhill page that night. I reported this to Kevin’s father and he paid no mind.”

 

“What did it say?” 

 

“Betty, why do you ask this? You are accusing me of treason. It is against court order for scribes to read letters they deliver.” 

 

Betty sank onto his bed, a vision of beauty in an elaborate ball gown but with the purest look of distress upon her features.

 

“You did anyways, didn’t you? Because you knew something was not right. We all knew Polly and Jason were together, we all knew that would cause a problem. There had to have been a bigger reason why they ran away, why Jason  _ died _ . What happened? Why aren't my parents worried about her? Why won't they care? What if Polly is dead too?” 

 

“Betty…Even if I did want to help you. I must be loyal to The Crown first.”

 

“I am The Crown!” Betty cried, yanking her tiara from upon her head and flinging it at his feet as a form of visceral proof. It clashed to the ground with a horrid clang and Jughead jumped, aghast. “Forget my parents! Forget Our Kingdom! You Obey  _ me!” _

 

“Yes, your highness,” he replied immediately, although both his voice and eyes were devoid of emotion, and his jaw set stubbornly in defiance of his complicity.

 

Jughead watched her catch her breath. She dug her fingers into her palms, but mercifully was wearing gloves, and twisted her eyes shut, trembling.

 

“Oh god,” she breathed, terrified, when her haze of fury dissipated. “No. I did not mean that. I can't make you do anything.”

  
  


Jughead balked at that, “Yes, you can now, you're the crown princess. I'm your subject, Betty.” 

 

“Stop. No, I can't,” She repeated, throwing herself onto her knees at his mercy.

 

“Look at what this title does to my sanity! I am going half mad and it has not yet been two full moon cycles. Don't let me become heartless like my parents or, god forbid, The Blossoms. I could not live in that way. I would die in a world in which I am the object of your hatred,” Betty's eyes were wild, clutching the suit legs of her friend, begging for forgiveness.  

 

Stunned, Jughead grasped hold of her arms and lifted her upright from his unswept floor, and back towards his bed. No matter what Betty said or how her words drew a wound in his side, he would not have The Princess kneel before him. 

 

“Far be it from my heart, the thought thereof.” Jughead forgave her quietly, “I know you, Betty, I could never hate.” 

 

“I did not come here to command you,” Betty sniffled, turning away. She wiped her eyes with a handkerchief Jughead produced from his pocket, then took a deep breath. “I want to make this clear. It will never be a command with you. Maybe you are my subject and I your master, it does not matter. First and foremost, you are my friend.”

 

She got up from his bed, “I’m sorry, Jughead, it was not my place to ask this of you. Worse so was that nasty attempt of holding power over you. I won't disturb you any longer. Goodnight.” 

 

The Princess walked out of the servant quarters, and left him in her wake. Betty knew there was no way to make an entrance alone into the ball without warning her mother. 

 

Queen Alice was a walking night terror. 

 

No, the public does not spit at her name, and nowhere near is her wrath that of her rival Queen Penelope. She was courteous and kind, the people liked her well enough, by The Princess’s understanding. Except she was not courteous, she was not kind. She owned a sharp tongue and pointed glare, capable of unfurling trepidation in the most courageous knights, yet far more likely used against her own blood. Hearsay foretold, anyone who knew anything, understood that despite King Hal having the crown and royal lineage, it was Queen Alice who did the ruling and held the kingdom in her iron fist. 

 

She walked quickly into her mother’s quarters, ignoring surprised maidservants who advised against it. 

 

“Hal, I told you to not disturb me until half past seven--Oh! Elizabeth, dear child, what are you doing loitering in the halls? You must be preparing for your night,” she ushered her inside, leaving her servants to close the doors behind them. Her mother paused to look at her daughter thoroughly. “Is that what you call a presentable attire? Your hair is unkempt. Where is your tiara?” 

 

Betty’s eyes widened. Her hand flied to her bare head, as her mind flashed the image of her head piece laid forgotten on Jughead’s servant grounds, accumulating dirt and shame, and supposed it best not to reply. 

 

Her mother sighed at her as though she were a little girl amusing herself with an asinine game. 

 

“Why are you here, Elizabeth?” 

 

Because, one does not approach her Queen without just reason. Even if the Queen is her mother. 

 

“If I may, I ask to attend the ball tonight unescorted.”

 

“What sort of ridiculous request is that?” 

 

“Mother, I do not have an  _ escort _ .”

 

“Duke Archibald agreed to take you, did he not?”

 

“That was before he met The Countess, mother.” 

 

“That's nonsense. You are The Princess, every maiden comes second to you.” 

 

Was her mother deluded? Did she have honest thought that the world would be at Betty’s beck and call now that she held a new title? Trust was not so easily won over. Betty’s own dearest friends reluctantly submitted themselves to her. It was laughable to assume she held more power than an infant holding a rattle.

 

There may have been a time, many seasons past, when little Elizabeth would sit on a cushion at her mother’s feet, and willingly allow herself to be fed the well-crafted absurdities of her mother’s desires for her daughter’s life. Her head filled with nonsensical fantasies fueled by her mother, of being second to Polly, with every maiden coming after she. She could have whomever she’d choose. How could anyone resist her? Elizabeth’s hand would sweat whenever Archie reached for it, grasping it securely as her escort for her many many occasions. 

 

On the eve of her fourteenth birthday, she looked him in the eye and asked if he would court her. Like a pail of ice water dumped on her head, was she awoken to reality when he recoiled at those words. She never once thought he would not want her. That anyone, could not want her. Thereafter, with rapid conscientiousness she had begun to conclude  _ most _ did not want her. 

 

“Mother,” Betty said slowly, “That is false, no matter how much you wish it so.” 

 

It has been two years since she’s ever thought about Duke Archie in anyway more than brotherly. This be not the issue. It was, that in essence, The Princess spoke in an echochamber, her words bouncing off the walls and hurtling right back at her, as a form of mockery. Nobody listened to her. 

 

“Elizabeth. You will be escorted by a member of the court. That is final. Now go back to your chamber and get prepared.” 

 

Nobody  _ could  _ listen to her, even if they so wanted. She had no voice.

 

Betty’s chin trembled as she kept silent. 

 

“Elizabeth,” The Queen said firmly,“Have I made myself unequivocally clear?”

 

“Yes, mother.”

 

“You are dismissed. The guards will bring you to your room.” 

 

The Princess made move to leave when her mother called for her attention once more. 

 

“Please don't forget The Royal Physician’s prescriptions, Elizabeth. They really do help with your terrible mood swings. In fact, take two.” The Queen grasped Betty’s gloved hand, pressed the glass bottle of medicaments into it and closed Betty’s fingers around it forcefully. 

 

Betty clenched it tightly, looking up at her mother with wide eyes. 

 

“What is it, I ask of you?” 

 

Betty’s eyes flashed as she swallowed down her pride, “To remain calm and dignified, Mother,” she replied, feigning a pleasant smile.

 

The Princess’s answer pleased The Queen. “Which you will present in twentyfold this evening, I hope.” 

 

Betty nodded. She knew a threat when she heard one.

 

“Very good, go on then.” 

 

Elizabeth slipped away, two paces ahead from the men who followed her back to her quarters. She felt like a prisoner, not a princess. Her servants sighed loudly with relief when she appeared again, and opened her door for her. They began fussing over her disheveled appearance and The Princess took it in stride. 

 

Veronica had returned, sitting by The Princess’s vanity, admiring the pearls that hung around her neck in the large mirror. 

 

“Oh, there you are Betty! I was beginning to wonder of your whereabouts. You received a letter,” Veronica informed, nodding to her bedside table. The Princess did a double take, for there sat her tiara, resting upon a stamped envelope, as if it had always been there. 

 

Elizabeth’s heart quickened as she then realized who must have been behind this. 

 

Betty allowed the maid to open the envelope and have it handed to her. 

 

_ Master, go on, and I will follow thee _

_ To the last gasp with truth and loyalty _ \- JJ

 

Shakespeare, Jughead’s favourite connoisseur, as if the initials were not telling enough. 

 

The implication behind the words had a weight to them that made Elizabeth dizzy. Veronica peered over her shoulder.

 

“Ugh,” She groaned, rolling her eyes, “Proverbs. They make my head pound. What does it mean?”

 

“It means Jughead will be my escort,” The Princess replied, though if her presupposition were correct, the significance of the letter was indeed much greater. It meant a partnership, perhaps even an investigation, a means for Betty to make something of her life that surpassed sitting, waving and looking pretty until her father’s death.

 

“The Scribe?” The Countess asked, not above masking her incredulousness. 

 

The glass bottle of medicaments were lying on the table. The Princess took the vial and dropped it into the nearby pail, satisfied with its shattering sounds. The Countess startled, as did her chambermaid, yet she could not find it in herself to apologize. 

 

She was not a girl who would be contained anymore than she already was.

 

“Yes, The Scribe.” The Princess countered,  with newfound confidence. “Will that be a problem?”

 

The Countess opened her mouth, then closed it. She turned her head to The Princess with an intrigued look. 

 

“I realize it is an unconventional pairing, certainly not the first choice my parents had in mind, nor one the Grand Officials are expecting, but he fulfills the requirements and is more than capable for the job, that I am sure of.” Betty raised an eyebrow, she was doing this  _ for _   Veronica, by god she above all ought to be supportive. 

 

“I will ask again, then, will this be a problem?” 

 

Veronica clapped her hands together, delighted at The Princess’s challenge. And here The Countess thought all along her friend --bless her and to her be the glory and all that, of course, nevertheless-- was a meek, spineless thing. 

 

“No, your highness,” she mused, “Not in the slightest.” 

 

“Excellent.”

 

Betty picked up her despised tiara and placed it firmly on her head. The Princess stared at her reflection in her vanity mirror, shocked at the small genuine smile that played the corner of her lips.  

 

It would be hours later until she noticed, somehow, in that moment, the weight that used to press down against her temples somewhat lifted. 

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: Description of Jason's corpse & Betty digs into her palms, drawing blood. 
> 
> Not to pressure you or anything but my birthday is in half an hour and the greatest gift in the world would be comments! :)
> 
> Follow me on tumblr @ [https://jugaddict.tumblr.com/](%E2%80%9DLINK)


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